A slave to capitalism by day, aspiring writer by night.

Probably fresh out of the shower, my robe tight and my wet hair air drying. Sipping overly creamed french vanilla or cinnamonbun coffee and hoping the weather calls for a light thunderstorm. 

My mostly black wardrobe is covered in my dogs white hair. I'm probably sniffing because my cat knows I'm allergic to him and insists on sitting in my lap while I get creative.